


It's Not A Miracle We Needed

by allonsy_gabriel



Series: Another 51 [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aziraphale Being an Idiot (Good Omens), Aziraphale was Noah's dove, Crowley Being an Idiot (Good Omens), Crowley isn't subtle, Dining at the Ritz (Good Omens), Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, Idiots in Love, M/M, Moving In Together, Protective Aziraphale (Good Omens), Quote: You go too fast for me Crowley (Good Omens), South Downs Cottage (Good Omens), Tenderness, There's A Tag For That, an abundance of parentheticals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 19:05:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19774495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allonsy_gabriel/pseuds/allonsy_gabriel
Summary: Things continued, as they tend to do. A month went by, a month wherein Aziraphale was convinced more of Crowley's belongings were in his shop than the demon's flat.A few smaller plants appeared on his countertops. A leather jacket was draped over his sofa. The keys to the Bentley sat in a ceramic bowl by the bed— the bed that was now being used, almost every night, by a particular demon who had insisted on getting better quality sheets because good Lucifer, angel, when did you even get these?(Aziraphale blushed as he admitted that they came with the bed, which came with the flat, which came with the shop, which Aziraphale opened in the 1800s.)





	It's Not A Miracle We Needed

**Author's Note:**

> hello! next part of 'ineffable dumbasses try to get their shit together', coming right up!

It was all quite simple, after that. 

Crowley stayed over that evening. They ordered take away from a little Thai place down the street, and Crowley's arm remained looped around Aziraphale's waist as they ate their curry puffs.

He  _ did  _ return to his flat the next morning, to mist his plants ( _ I can't leave them alone for long, angel, or they'll start thinking they can slack off _ ) and whatnot. They did, however, meet back up a few hours later for lunch and a stroll through the park, their joined hands swinging between them as they walked.

Things continued, as they tend to do. A month went by, a month wherein Aziraphale was convinced more of Crowley's belongings were in his shop than the demon's flat.

A few smaller plants appeared on his countertops. A leather jacket was draped over his sofa. The keys to the Bentley sat in a ceramic bowl by the bed— the bed that was now being used, almost every night, by a particular demon who had insisted on getting better quality sheets because  _ good Lucifer, angel, when did you even  _ get _ these? _

(Aziraphale blushed as he admitted that they came with the bed, which came with the flat, which came with the shop, which Aziraphale opened in the 1800s.)

It wasn't as if the angel didn't realise what was happening— despite Crowley's numerous insistences otherwise, Aziraphale was not, actually, an idiot— he simply didn't… mind.

But it was, all things considered, getting a bit cramped, what with the books and the plants and that ridiculous chair Crowley had brought over (honestly, the demon wasn't even the  _ slightest _ bit subtle).

"You know," the angel said as they sat at the table (their table, in every way but properly) at the Ritz, dabbing his mouth with his napkin. "I've been thinking."

Crowley grinned. "Don't strain yourself, angel."

Aziraphale glared at him. "I was  _ thinking  _ of maybe… moving. Out of London. It's a lovely city and all, but it is a bit… busy, don't you think?"

Crowley's eyebrows shot up. "I mean, I suppose so," he said, his voice even.

"Oh, good!" Aziraphale said with a wide smile. “You know, I was looking on the computer the other day, they have these lovely little cottages near the South Downs. Just big enough for a library, and plenty of room for a garden.”

“Uh-huh,” Crowley replied. There was a peculiar look on his face. “I’m sure you’ll love it, angel.”

Aziraphale stared at him for a moment. “Well yes,” he agreed, “But do… would  _ you _ like it, love? I know how attached you are to your flat, and to the city, and I know it would be a tremendous hassle to move all your plants, and I wouldn’t want you to have to go through all of that unless you truly wanted to, my dear.”

Crowley blinked behind his glasses.

(Aziraphale wished he would just  _ leave them off _ , for once.)

“Oh,” the demon said. “Well, I mean, there’s no harm in a little change of scenery.”

“Yes! Yes, precisely,” Aziraphale replied. “I was actually thinking we could go look at a few after this, if that’s alright with you. It’s a bit of a drive, but I thought it might be nice. I even packed biscuits.”

“Just— just so we’re clear,” Crowley said, “This cottage… it would be…”

“For the two of us. That is, if you like it, of course. I’m happy to stay in London, if you’d prefer, but you must admit that the bookshop isn’t  _ quite _ big enough for the both of us.”

“So we’d be… living. Together. You and me.”

“Well, aren’t we already?”

Aziraphale was sure he hadn’t misread the situation. People didn’t simply  _ leave  _ six pairs of shoes, two leather jackets, a blazer, four blankets, twelve houseplants, an ornate 18th-century throne, and three bottles hair product at someone’s house if they  _ weren’t _ living with them.

“I… suppose you could say that,” Crowley said cooly, trying  _ desperately  _ hard to appear nonchalant. “I hadn’t really noticed.”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You know, for a demon, you’re certainly terrible at lying, and  _ even worse  _ at being sneaky. Most of the clothes in my closet belong to you at this point, love.”

“I’m not— I wasn’t  _ being sneaky _ —”

“I’m aware. As I just said, you really were being quite obvious—”

“I was trying not to  _ go too fast _ ,” Crowley snapped.

That certainly shut Aziraphale up, and the angel glanced down at the table cloth.

“I…” he started, but the words didn’t come.

For a moment, all that could be heard was the clatter of utensils and the music of the piano.

“I was scared, Crowley,” Aziraphale finally said softly. “I-I was worried about what Heaven would say, I couldn’t— I thought…” He reached over and took Crowley’s hand. “I knew what was happening. What had already happened, to be perfectly honest. I just—Crowley, love, it was all so  _ much _ , and I was afraid, if I went with you then, I would—well, certainly there are  _ some  _ things Heaven wouldn’t be able to turn a blind eye to, and if I’d stayed, if I’d let you, if I’d—if I’d  _ gone your speed _ , I wouldn’t have been able to stop them. You… you would’ve swept me away, my dear.”

“Would that have been such a bad thing?” Crowley asked.

“If it meant putting you in danger?  _ Yes _ ,” Aziraphale replied, the words sharp. “Call me a—call me foolish, or a coward, or anything you’d like, but risking your life? That was out of the question.”

Crowley leaned back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his face. “Alright,” he muttered. “Alright, yes, so. You packed biscuits? I suppose you know the way to this  _ cottage _ , then?”

Aziraphale made no attempt to hide the smile he knew was blooming across his face.

***

The place they settled on was called  _ Dove’s Landing _ .

“A bit ironic, isn’t it?” Crowley asked as he placed another box on the old, wooden coffee table in the sitting room. “What with, well… you know…”

“I most certainly do not,” Aziraphale disagreed as he placed his own box next to Crowley’s.

“C’mon, angel, you and I  _ both know _ —”

“ _ No _ , we  _ do not _ —”

“Doves aren’t the most intelligent creatures, and there’s no way one could’ve flown all the way to  _ Armenia _ without landing—”

“Maybe it was just a  _ very special dove _ —”

“Or  _ maybe _ ,” Crowley said, “A certain someone decided to lend a helping hand—or rather, a helping  _ talon _ —”

Aziraphale glared at him.

“I don’t see what the big fuss is about, angel,” Crowley said. “You saved them. They were going to run out of food, soon, and if you hadn’t—”

“Could we—I’d rather not discuss it,” Aziraphale muttered.

He’d been the dove. Not because he’d been  _ asked _ or  _ assigned _ or anything like that—no, he did it because the rations had been dwindling and 'Adataneses’ children had never seen dry land. He’d flown from the ark on the 271st day of the flood, had flown high above the waters, and had  _ seen _ .

The instruments, wooden flutes and things stringed with horses’ hair.

The shoes, strips of leather and jute, floating above the waves.

The toys of the children, the paint washed away, leaving blank faces and blocks.

The bodies in the water, rotted, nothing more than bones, their meat devoured by the creatures of the sea.

He’d seen it all, and he’d Doubted.

Not his first doubt, but the first Doubt he’d had in Her.

Crowley stared at him for a moment, but didn't push. “Are all of these going in the library?” he asked, gesturing to the boxes before them.

“Oh, I’d planned on some of them going in the bedroom,” Aziraphale replied.

The boxes were full of books. In fact,  _ every  _ box was full of books. Books were the only thing they’d bothered to pack in boxes in the first place. Everything else had been miraculously transported to its new home at Dove’s Landing, but not Aziraphale’s books (or Crowley’s plants, but those could hardly be put into boxes) (or maybe they could be, but Crowley wasn’t risking it).

“There’s always something  _ off _ after you miracle something like that,” Aziraphale had said, “And I’d hate for anything to go wrong—we’ll just take them the  _ normal  _ way.”

Crowley hadn’t even argued with him (see the previous point about plants).

So far, they’d brought in twelve boxes of books. There were about seven still out in the car, and this was  _ after  _ Aziraphale had done what that lovely woman had said about  _ sparking love _ . It was hardly the angel’s fault if 456 books had sparked love.

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Our house is going to look like a bloody library,” he muttered.

“I certainly hope so,” Aziraphale agreed, taking a seat on the sofa. He patted the cushion next to him, and Crowley sank into it immediately, his head resting on the angel’s shoulder. 

It was nice, Aziraphale thought, being like this. Close. Together. Sitting on the same sofa cushion, living in the same house, sharing the same bed. 

“Stop it,” Crowley muttered into the angel’s collar. “Don’t—I can  _ feel  _ you thinking sappy thoughts. Quit it.”

“Why?”

“ _ Because _ .”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Oh, definitely.”

Aziraphale laughed. “You must admit,” he said. “It is quite lovely.”

Crowley scoffed. “Obviously, angel,” he said. “That’s why we picked it.”

“Not just the house, although it  _ is _ rather wonderful,” Aziraphale. “I just mean… us. Just the two of us. That’s we’re doing this—that we  _ get  _ to do this—”

“ _ Angel _ . The sappiness.  _ Please _ .”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes and placed a gentle kiss on the demon’s forehead.

He pretended not to notice the way Crowley’s face turned the colour of his hair.

The waves crashed along the shore.

An olive branch rested on their hearth.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! please tell me what you thought, and feel free to message me on tumblr @allonsy-gabriel!


End file.
